Too Far To Fall
by Authors Tune
Summary: Alec's lifestyle post divorce poses a threat to Gillian. Cal/Gillian focus - Rated M for possible future violence.
1. Prologue & Chapter 1

**Of course, nothing belongs to me.**

**Prologue**

It's hard not to spin into the cycle of _why me_. The mind games sit out there, dormant, just waiting to be gripped with two hands and thrown to the sky in a kaleidoscope of self pity.

I want so much to go there, to dissolve into tears and voice the emotion that I tentatively control. I want the world to know that I'm not strong enough for this.

_Never was; never will be._

And the fear that knots my stomach and steals my breath away when I need it most; I want it out there so that you all know that I'm trembling inside.

_Jumping at shadows; hiding from the storm._

I've spent a lifetime determined to be strong, to be better than I was destined to be. And the irony – my strength merely hides my vulnerability.

_I'm weaker than I ever was._

I feel like a child; unstable and anxious. My eyes dart and my expression changes with each thought - thoughts that race through my mind too quickly for any meagre effort at distraction.

_Helpless; my façade defeats me._

**Part 1**

He stood at her office door, concern etched into the lines around his eyes. She was oblivious to his presence, staring absentmindedly to the left of her computer screen, her hands frozen mid-type. He couldn't quite make out her expression; it flitted and changed so quickly. If he was forced to interpret, he would suggest she was feeling chaotic; confused and lost in the whirlwind of thoughts.

He coughed softly, but the sound caught in his throat and didn't emit. He scuffed his feet and loosely knocked at the doorframe that he leant against. She didn't startle, just glanced up as if not fully separated from her day dream.

She blinked twice before offering an attempt at a smile; just the right side of her mouth twitching and extending to emphasise her cheek bone. It didn't meet her eye.

"You almost finished?" Cal asked quietly, nodding his head towards the monitor that he knew she had forgotten about minutes earlier.

"Ah, yes. No, actually," Gillian fumbled for an accurate and coherent answer. She grappled to remember what it was she had been working on.

Stepping in to her office and easing himself on to the arm of a chair opposite her desk, Cal shrugged his shoulders and tossed a used coffee mug on top of a pile of out-of-date filing. "It's ten o'clock, it can wait for tomorrow."

Gillian's eyes narrowed, attempting distraction rather than a direct excuse. "There's a new appliance in the kitchen, I think it's called a dishwasher."

He smiled and called her bluff. "Nah, that's what Loker is for these days." He waited a few seconds in silence, hoping she would fill in the blank before challenging her. "Seriously, whatever it is, it can wait."

She shook her head slowly before answering, "No, this report needs to be done by the end of the week. And it could mean a big contract – you never know, it might end up being enough that we feel guilty for not paying Eli."

Call emulated the shake of her head and slid into the chair, his legs slipping over the arm before reaching the floor. "What are you hiding from tonight?" he asked directly.

Nostrils flaring briefly, Gillian ground her teeth together. "Don't read me Cal," she muttered, diverting her eyes and dipping her chin to her chest.

"In truth, I'm not," he replied, keeping his voice even and controlled. "I was just asking you a question. You seem…distracted."

She sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair but keeping her eyes focussed on her lap. Her hair was uncharacteristically out of place, tied back roughly with strands of hair shadowing her face and tucked loosely behind her ears. The curls which had been styled that morning were now knotted and simply pushed out of the way; Cal could guess that she had been indulging her nervous habit – raking her fingers through her hair and resting her forehead frustratingly in her palms. "Talk," he stated simply, though his voice was gentle and as encouraging as he could be whilst maintaining an aura of authority.

Gillian shook her head slowly, biting at her lower lip and closing her eyes in a prolonged blink. "I'm okay," she insisted, "Really."

"Then go home or better yet, join me for yum cha," Cal stated with a smile, though his concern was clear. Gillian had yet to meet his eyes or engage at all and it was rare for her. She would always talk to him, although often in a round-a-bout way, but she certainly wasn't one for theatrics with dramatised scenes of information being elicited. She would be more stoic than he wanted her to be, but she would keep him updated and accept his supportive hugs or tender hand that squeezed her own. "So," he prompted again after being met only with silence. "What will it be?"

She drew in a long, deep breath and exhaled noisily. "Cal, I just…I just want to work. Is that okay?" It was defeat that he could sense in her voice, an exasperation that was void of passion. In everything they did, in all the years that he had known her, she was seldom detached and emotionless.

"Sure," he said finally, dismissing the wave of relief that crossed her face. He moved out of the chair but made no effort to leave, walking only to the sofa against her office wall and settled into it. He removed his jacket and bundled it up, placing it under his head as he lay down. He caught a glimpse of a smile from Gillian as he kicked his shoes off, one falling directly to the ground but the other flying two metres across the room before dropping with a thud. "Just wake me when you're ready to go."

"I know what you're doing, you know; how many times do I have to tell you that I'm fine."

"Oh at least five more and with conviction. None of this amateur lying stuff."

"I thought you weren't reading me?"

"You left me no choice – all this talk of being _fine_, you can't blame my ego for advocating my id..."

She laughed and finally allowed their eyes to meet. "You've resorted to Freudian theories of the mind? You turned desperate Cal."

"Go home Gillian."

She sighed and raised a hand to her mouth. Her fingers trembled and Cal suddenly shifted his weight on the sofa and leant forward. "I can't," she whispered, the words lingering, barely audible but thick with fear.

"Can't?" His thoughts reeled, suddenly torn between emulating her fear and a overwhelming desire to fix whatever she was eluding to.

Gillian shook her head slowly, attempting twice to swallow an invisible lump in her throat. "He's looking for me. Knows where I am – live. There are security cameras here, at least."

"I'm not following. Who? Alec?"

Again, she moved her head left to right. "No. He has debts and he's gone. Left them behind. Now _they're_ looking for payment." Her words were slightly disjointed and were vocalised in either a rush of exhaled air or whispered through a strangled voice.

"His dealer?" Cal asked confidently, the pieces finally falling into place. "We'll sort it out, we can pay them off. That's not a problem – tomorrow we can organise a draw. You should have come to me earlier, you know that." It was the only part of the equation that was confusing him; although he hadn't been privy to the details of Gillian and Alec's divorce settlement, he knew that the finances and property had all been divided and reconciled. The debt couldn't be that out of control and if it was, she would have come to him. She always found a way to communicate with him, even if using words was too hard.

"If only," Gillian muttered, the defeated tone returning. She shifted in her chair, pulling her knees to her chest and bowing her forehead. "That's not the kind of payment they're after."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews, I am pleased you're enjoying it! Hope it continues to live up to expectation! **

**Part 2**

Blinking her eyes, Gillian quickly took in her environment and tried to orientate herself. Light streamed through two large windows and she rolled to her side, burying her face momentarily in a pillow to ward off the unwelcome glare. The smell of freshly percolated coffee and crisping bacon wafted toward her helped quickly transition her from sleep to waking. In a flood of realisation, she rolled over again; lying on her back and stretching fully out on the sofa whilst she rubbed at the sleep in her eyes.

Cal had literally dragged her away from the office just before midnight and with one of his hands in hers and the other open palm on the small of her back, she was powerless to refuse. Not that any alternatives were available, but she despised needing to be protected. The end of her marriage had returned an autonomy that she had long forgotten and feminist principles that she hadn't considered since her early college years. And then so suddenly she found herself fearful again and in need of support.

They hadn't spoken much about the threat and Gillian supposed her expression voided Cal's need for additional information. She assumed he was curious but she also knew that he respected her and her need to control at least something in her life. When everything was unpredictable, it was what she did; she fought to control something, anything else. Usually it was herself, if she could influence nothing else; she could always dictate how she behaved. But for Cal, ultimately, he had found out that she was in trouble and for the moment, having her with him alleviated the immediate threat. He was briefly contented.

It was his voice and the sound of plates and pans being tossed into the kitchen sink that drew her out of her flashback a few minutes later. "Breakfast is five minutes away…" he grinned purposely towards her, but Gillian went oblivious with her hands still covering her face.

She eventually nodded and drew herself into a sitting position, tucking wayward pieces of hair behind her ears. "I'll ah, freshen up," she offered slowly. "And since when are you a morning person?"

"I've always been a morning person – rise and shine and all that."

"I seem to recall dragging you to 9am meetings when we've been out of town…and come to think of it, I remember a certain conference presentation that you would have missed if it weren't for me phoning you three times and picking you up."

"Ah," Cal said with a laugh, "My drinking days don't count. They were hangovers not a personal hatred for sunlight. Now, stop debating and get ready, this is clearly the best bacon and eggs you will ever eat."

There was a quick smirk and a distinct roll of her eyes, but Gillian diligently traced the path to the bathroom. She knew her way around enough these days and knew where the fresh hand towels were kept and the stash of women's bathroom products, which on finding a few months earlier, wondered if they were there specifically for her. Between Emily and work, it left little time for extravagant socialising – for both of them really. They bantered often, hinting at the presence of a love life, or lack of, as was most often the case; but with long hours and complicated relationship history, they both played it safer than they would be willing to admit. She couldn't imagine other women having the same access as Cal afforded her.

Today, she was particularly grateful for the moisturiser and deodorant; and the perfume that was unopened on the shelf matched her favourite, the one that she wore most days. Combined with the new toothbrush, still in it box on the basin, she felt strangely comfortable. She thought back to the days when Cal was married and she was seldom welcome in their home. He would make an effort to bring Emily to the office, just frequent enough that Emily felt at ease with Gillian – the chubby smiles and tight hugs, games of chase and help with homework. It was easy now that she was a welcome guest; Emily thought nothing of finding Gillian sipping wine at the kitchen bench or deep in work at the dining room table. It was platonic and it was easy. After marriages that were such hard work for both of them, the comfort of a relationship that wasn't forced seemed a blessing. The line suddenly didn't seem so important any more.

She padded out barefoot a few minutes later, dressed in the jeans and blouse she had found folded over the towel rack in the bathroom. "Cal?" she asked, sliding in to a chair at the table. "How did you get my clothes?"

He looked at her briefly for a moment, spatula held stationary in the air, lingering over a plate of steaming bacon. Her eyes were innocently confused, awaiting his answer. "We stopped at your place," he replied, resuming his final food preparation and trying to hide his concern. "On our way home. You forgotten?"

"I guess," Gillian shrugged, her forehead creased in concern. "From the office?"

Cal nodded slowly. "It was only a quick stop, you were tired," he offered to ease her mild panic. The image of her as they entered her apartment had remained in his mind all night, her eyes searching the dark corners of each room and the startled noise she made when he had accidentally knocked over a lamp.

She nodded after a prolonged silence, her face relaxing slightly. "I guess I remember the drive, sorry. Of course we stopped."

"Here you go," Cal stated, sliding the conversation into a more relaxed tone. "Help yourself." He placed two plates in between the place settings, one filled with rashes of bacon and the other with scrambled eggs lightly covered with basil and mozzarella cheese.

"I'm impressed although disappointed that you're not wearing an apron." She smiled warmly and he laughed, this was the woman that he would do anything for. Do anything to protect.

"One day some photographic evidence will show up and that would ruin my image. My bad boy persona has been carefully crafted."

"One of the biggest rules in psychology – the past is merely an indication of the present, not a certainty. You're one of the good guys these days."

"Hmmm," he nodded in agreement, matching her speed and style as he slid into a chair across from her and started to fill his plate. "I'm not sure," he stated, placing a large forkful of egg in his mouth and chewing before continuing. "Whether that has been good luck or good management."

"Usually a combination of both isn't it?"

"Probably; I, of course, had you to keep me out of too much trouble and on the straight and narrow."

She thought for a few minutes, continuing her assault on breakfast before resting her cutlery and toying with her coffee mug. "I knew you know," she began but Cal simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in confusion. "That he was using again. When we were together."

"Yeah, you mentioned something one day. When I thought Alec was having an affair."

She smiled sadly. "I thought it was only occasional use. I should have known that he didn't have it under control. He was having an affair, you were right of course. I should have been willing to hear that too. I just wanted my marriage to work, like we're told to. We're told that marriage is forever."

"Good in theory, not so good in practice. The only good thing that came out of my marriage was Emily."

"Not good, brilliant. I walked away with nothing, a few reasonable memories overshadowed by the lies. Ironic isn't it?"

Cal shook his head and reached across the table, lightly trailing his fingertips over her forearm before resting back. "We see so much, sometimes we just want to believe blindly like all the rest of 'em out there."

"But what do I do now, Cal? Alec, he's really messed up. And I can't hide here forever – these people, they…they're criminals."

He forced his breathing to be controlled and relaxed his expression; he wanted Gillian to feel confident in one thing – his capacity and willingness to protect her. "We'll get Reynolds involved, we'll hire additional security, and we'll start by figuring out how else we can get them out of your life. We can track down Alec; get him back to sort out his own bloody debts. But I will not let anyone hurt you, alright?" She stared back at him, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. "Alright?" he repeated.

"They have my cell number, my direct line at work, my email…" she trailed off shakily. "They'll find a way," she added in a whisper.

"Gillian," he stated, rising out of seat and walking around the table to sit on the edge of the chair next to her. She stared at her plate, brushing away a few solitary tears that trailed slowly down her pale cheeks. His hand shadowed hers at her cheek and he drew it away, curling their fingers together. "I won't let them." His enunciation was stronger than usual, the words clear and distinct, where usually he would let the syllables waft together.

"You can't stop them," she insisted, "And I don't want you to get hurt. I didn't want you in this. I didn't want you to have to be involved. I just want this to go away."

He squeezed her hand and she responded involuntarily by gripping back. Her head hung low and her stomach contracted as she fought to control the emotion that threatened to take over. "Men in white coats couldn't drag me away," he muttered, pulling her into his chest. "I'll figure it out – no one will hurt you."

Gillian pressed her forehead into his clavicle, exhaling a rush of air she hadn't realised she was holding. Her fingernails dug into his hand that she refused to release and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "But it's too late," she said in a gasped whisper, barely audible.

His heart raced. He had missed it. Her expression, the panic, the fear. He had mistaken it; misread it.

_He couldn't prevent it; only stop it._

------

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay in getting this posted! Thanks for sticking with me – it's such a crazy time of year! But here's the next part.**

**Part 3**

The office was eerily quiet for the middle of the day; the research lab was on hiatus so Loker could write up some projects and the rest of the staff were either on leave or quietly working at their desks. Business wasn't slow but it certainly wasn't chaotic either, which was more than manageable for a group used to functioning on adrenalin alone. The slower pace had the opposite effect for most them, causing to de-motivate and encourage procrastination more than anything else.

Torres had questioned Cal as to the _unsaid_ in the office; she was probably the best out of all of them in the art of empathy and perception. He had merely skilfully avoided and distracted. She didn't believe him, anyone with a beating heart could have read her facial features as he fed her the lies but she didn't press it. And this was where his seldom spoken respect for Torres entered, she sensed the gravity of what was being evaded and the need for stepping back. She had the ability to challenge when she needed to but more importantly, had the skills to know when to let go.

With Reynolds caught up at a FBI briefing for hours, Cal was impatiently waiting for his return. He had tried distracting himself with paperwork, but considering it was never his strong point at the best of times, he barely managed to type a few paragraphs of an old report. He kept finding excuses to walk past Gillian's office – trips to the bathroom, kitchen, lab; until finally a notebook struck him on the shoulder as he walked slowly past her open door for the sixth or seventh time. "You need to stop it," Gillian muttered, her eyes glaring into his.

"Stop what? I'm just getting a coffee," he responded in a forced nonchalant voice.

She smiled and shrugged before shaking her head. "Or, you could just sit in here and stop sending me madder than I already am."

"Sorry," he offered with a half-hearted hand motion, his palm to the ceiling. He didn't decline her invitation though, slipping inside the door and closing it behind him.

"I am okay," Gillian stated as he sat across from her. "You don't need to be so vigilant."

He shrugged slowly, squinting his eyes and holding her stare, waiting an uncomfortable few seconds. "I thought we covered this."

She exhaled strongly. "That was until you started pacing outside my door. They'll be getting suspicious."

"Already are."

"What? Who? You didn't say anything did you?" She looked panic stricken briefly, as if the idea of the office being aware terrified her.

"They would back you one hundred percent, you know."

"Cal, don't. What did you say?" She wasn't allowing him to play mind games with her and she didn't think she'd be able to separate herself if he started – she would be lost in his illusion.

He smiled sadly and shook his head. "Nothing at all, told Torres to go bake some muffins. She wasn't too keen but didn't argue. I wonder if she is actually baking?"

Gillian forced herself to relax, her heart still feeling as if it was beating through her chest. "Don't do that to me," she whispered.

"Sorry," he offered loosely. "Don't think I won't break your little _stubborn_ thing if it means saving your life. Because I will." He waited silently for her response, but she kept her eyes fixated on the desk. "As you would and have done for me, yeah?"

"Yeah yeah," she muttered with a non-committal tone. "I know, well, I know intellectually anyway…" she trailed off. "So," she said after a quick breath and squaring her shoulders. "Don't you have paperwork you could be doing?"

"Oh absolutely," Cal replied with a grin. "But I'm more interested in getting this all sorted."

"With your magic wand?"

"Oh, I would make a good fairy but I was thinking more along the lines of waiting for Ben to get back."

Gillian nodded slowly, her expression filled with apprehension and anxiety. "What are you going to ask him to do?"

"Just to get Alec back here so we can get him to fix it all," Cal answered with a small smile, but his eyes fed her the seriousness she knew he intended.

"I'm worried he'll get hurt Cal. They could really hurt him."

"I could care less you know," he responded carefully. "I don't get how it's okay for you to try and deal with this – which he caused, but it's not alright for us to help or to bring that low life back here to deal with it himself. He screwed you over in so many ways, why do you still insist on protecting his ass?"

She stared back at him calmly. "I don't want him dead. He might have _screwed me over_, as you so eloquently put, but he doesn't deserve to die."

"Do you?" he threw back to her quickly; frustration exposed in his tone and pressured speech.

She wondered briefly if it was a tool that he was using to get her to react or respond in a certain way. It annoyed her at times, she always felt as if she was second guessing him, trying to figure out his next move. Even if she could never be a step ahead of him, she could at least keep up and understand his motivation before the fall out. But then she would chastise herself, not every emotion Cal allowed through his unwavering exterior was calculated. Sometimes it was emotion; sometimes it was real feelings. "I don't know what you want me to say."

The tiny hint of a tremble in her voice softened him but part of him wanted her to understand that he was angry she was being accountable for this. "I want you to understand that this has to come down to you prioritising yourself. It's not your role to protect anyone but yourself – let alone Alec…or me, or anyone in this office."

"I understand you know. I know that this is serious."

"Do you?" he challenged, eyebrows raised and breathing deeply through his nose. "Because all I see is you trying to protect anyone but yourself."

"Yes Cal, I understand very well," she muttered back at him, transitioning quickly to mirror his anger. "I understood when strange men phoned my cell and threatened me; when images of petrified women, bound and restrained, appeared in my inbox. I _understood_ when I walked into my bedroom only to be pinned against the wall before I had a chance to turn the light on. Don't tell me that I don't understand; I never said this was uncomplicated. I never said that I wanted you to waltz in and try and save me, to pretend that you've got it all figured out in a few minutes. You're so calm and controlled. You think that you'll just make some calls and pull a few strings and it will all go away. I feel so out of control and you just seem to think you have it all figured out."

He stared back at her, the thoughts in his mind pleading with him to go into work mode. To pretend and keep up the façade – ironically, the very thing that was at the core of her criticism of him. It's a balance known only to humans, the tentative string that sits between empathy and dispassion. She needed him to be in control and he knew that, but she also needed to feel validated by his inability to make sense of something that was complex. He closed his eyes and sighed, motionlessly declaring, "I'm sorry." Gillian was looking at him sadly when he finally met her gaze again but she didn't move to accept his apology. "You know I don't mean to be cold but I'm worried. About you," he added gently. "And that's what I'm focussed on, even if I'm not going about it the right way. But Gillian, don't mistake my delivery for the message. This is about you and keeping you okay – I love you and I want you to let me – no matter how it all comes out."

She swallowed heavily, wiping at her eyes with the tip of her fingers. "I know," she responded carefully, her voice trembling. "But what if you can't?"

"Well, failure isn't an option is it? We'll be able to sort it out if we can just talk to some people. We'll be able to get a read but we can't do it without starting somewhere and Alec is the start."

"He's not a bastard, not really. He just screwed up."

"You'll have to let me reserve judgement on that one, he hasn't exactly endeared himself."

She smiled limply and shrugged, drawing in a deep inhalation. "Cal…they came into my apartment - my room." He froze, his pulse quickening and breathing shallow. "They didn't hurt me but they were there and his hands – they were so strong. So tight around my neck," she whispered, her own hands subconsciously moving up her chest to drag her fingernails across her clavicle. "I thought that was it, I thought they would take what they wanted and leave. But it was just a message, like this is a game. And I sat there afterwards, in the dark and I wanted to call you. I wanted you to come over and I don't know; but all I could think about was you."

"You should have called."

She shook her head, "I wasn't sure I could."

"You call love, and I'm there. Just like always, nothing has changed."

"I feel like it means something different now; is that just me?"

He smiled genuinely for the first time. "I'm right here Gillian, waiting for you. Right here, whenever you're ready." He didn't wait for her response; having heard Reynolds return to the adjacent office a few minutes prior, he slipped quietly out the door. He cast only a momentary glance back at her, taking in her small form hunched at the desk, an open palm now lingering over mouth. She knew he was going directly to organise for Alec to be tracked down and dragged into the Lightman Group. And she let him.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN: **__So long between updates! I really hope there are still a few people interested in continuing to read this fic, as I'm still keen to write it! Which hopefully this update will get me motivated into more regular parts being uploaded. __ Cheers, Author's Tune_

**Part 4**

The glass walls of the cube seemed more transparent that usual, although that was simply a figment of her anxiety rather than reality. Her cell phone rang, but she silenced it and shoved it back in the pocket of her jeans. Cal's attempts to keep her updated were causing her more distress than comfort and she was toying with the idea of disappearing via the fire escape stairs. She wasn't often overcome with the desire to run but when she was, it was the most compelling feeling. And she wasn't so sure she could ignore it this time, knowing that in just a few minutes, Cal and Reynolds would be dragging in her no doubt, very unhappy ex-husband. She didn't hate Alec and she didn't want him hurt, but she also had no desire to lay her eyes on the man that had betrayed her so deeply. Time and time again.

Her supervisor at the Pentagon once told her that Psychologists made the worst clients; they were notorious for spending so much energy on anyone but themselves. When it came to their own issues, they desperately wanted to just close their eyes, spend a few seconds drawing in controlled breaths and when they opened their eyes again, the world would have returned to equilibrium. But life just didn't work that way.

Daydreams have a way of stealing precious minutes away and for Gillian, they made the seconds blend together until the decision to stay or go was taken away from her. Cal had appeared next to her, his hand on her shoulder before she had been consciously aware that he had returned. She stared at him, knowing that he was expecting her to acknowledge both his presence and that of Alec, seated angrily behind the glass walls. He squeezed her shoulder, his fingers pressing into the soft skin above her collar bone before crouching and searching her expression. "You good?" he asked somewhat rhetorically, he was barely expecting an affirmative answer. But it was easier he supposed, or perhaps less confronting than gathering her in his arms and whispering his every apology for forcing her to confront the man that he knew she wanted to forget.

He got the response he deserved; quick blinking eyelids that kept the tears hidden and an expression that tread a fine line between defeat and misery. "I suppose you've both already interrogated him," she stated with a slight inflection.

"Mmmm," Cal responded, tilting his head and giving a strained smile. "He's not being the most cooperative. He knows who they are of course and he already knew that they were threatening you. He wasn't surprised to see me."

"Don't go over the top, Cal. I just want this over as soon as possible, no little extra bits alright?"

"Would I do anything other than the bare minimum?" Cal asked with a small smile, moving his hand to rest his palm to her cheek. She closed her eyes and exhaled, ever so slightly tilting her face into his open hand.

"Just be careful," she whispered.

"With you, always," Cal responded, standing and walking quickly towards the Cube. Even Gillian, in her incapacitated state, could appreciate his ability to completely change his persona in the matter of a few metres. His posture changed to reflect a confident and invincible quality whilst his face read obvious anger and his voice, etched with an obstinate streak.

Alec arched his back and flared his nostrils. How he hated the man that took more of Gillian than he was ever able to access. "You're wasting your time Lightman," he grated out.

"Are you still going to let her take the fall for your screw up or have you had a change of heart?" Cal threw back to him, sitting opposite and leaning back in the chair. "Are you going to let these men, who _you_ have pissed off, go into Gillian's house again?" he added when Alec didn't give an indication of any sense of responsibility or even care. The mention of Gillian's name however elicited a brief look of remorse, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "At least you care a little, then."

"What do you expect me to do? I don't know who they are or what they want. I have told you, my debts are cleared. Well and truly cleared."

Cal's hand shot out and pointed to the glass, his voice rising in anger. "Tell that to your ex-wife, who if I recall correctly, did nothing other than stand by your cheating, lying arse."

Alec laughed loudly, his own expression quickly reflecting his escalating fury. "Yes, my innocent ex-wife. The absence of sex doesn't equate to an absence of an affair."

Slowing his breathing, Cal knew that Gillian would be reading his expression as much as Alec's. He didn't bother to try and hide his disrespect. "At what point are you going to step up?" Reynolds interjected from the corner of the room, he couldn't read expressions but he didn't have a lot of time for this excuse of a man; just another suit clad addict. "At what point?" he repeated when Alec just stared back at him. "When they go into her apartment? Or are you going to wait until they hit her?" There was nothing readable on his face, if anything he looked absent, almost as if he was disengaging from them. "Further? I know what these types do Alec, I've seen it a hundred times. They up the stakes until they get what they want or they get caught. They won't just stop. They'll keep going, do you hear me? They'll torture her – hit, kick, belt; whatever they want."

"That isn't my responsibility," Alec muttered back, though his eyes remained glazed and the muscles of his face, flaccid.

The door to the Cube pushed open suddenly and Gillian stepped in, her hands held up in front of her. "He's high," she stated strongly. "You won't get a thing."

All three turned to face her, looking her up and down, each of them reading her in their own way. "You always thought I was high, Gill," Alec said confidently. "Even when I wasn't."

"Don't call me that," she responded calmly, though the anger was slipping in between the fear and apprehension.

"What? You don't like me using _his_ little pet name for you. Or is that just for under the bedcovers now?"

Gillian heard Cal's chair shift and she moved quickly to outstretch her arm in an attempt to calm him; the last thing they needed was Cal on assault charges. "Does it make you feel better to blame me, Alec? That's fine, you can blame me all you like. But right now, I want my life back. I want to be able to feel safe at work and at home. The sooner you tell us what you know, the sooner you can piss off again."

He laughed again but this time it was a nervous chuckle, a well rehearsed strategy to hide his discomfort. "Let me assure you, I would much prefer to be back living my life. I'm sure you've heard that I have one."

Knowing that her face was clearly showing her surprise at his change of tack, Gillian allowed Cal to interrupt their short exchange, who suddenly caught a glimpse of honesty in Alec's expression. "He's protecting someone else," Call explained and Gillian nodded her agreement.

"Sherlock," Alec muttered, rolling his eyes. "You're good, but you're not perfect, are you Lightman?"

"Far from it, perfection isn't my aim though."

"Should be, she always thought you were perfect."

They all smiled genuinely, "Gillian? Gillian tells me frequently that I'm not perfect. So does my daughter."

"Daughters will do that," Alec added. "And as nice as this little exchange is, having been picked up off the street and dragged back into this pleasant little flashback; I'm not being held by the FBI so I understand I can leave whenever I choose."

"Does she use too, Alec?" Cal asked, to which he shook his head as he rose to his feet. "What? Not _now?_"

Gillian turned and walked out of the Cube and didn't stop, she quickened her pace past the offices and through the foyer until she was stumbling up the stairs, suddenly desperate for fresh air. She discarded her heels, kicking them off and to the corner of the cement stairs, guiding her way by the railing as tears blinded her vision. When she reached the rooftop, she tilted her face to the sky and released a choked sob. Drawing her hands to tightly form two fists, she frustratingly arched her back and folded over, angrily punching her thighs before falling to her knees.

"I've sent Reynolds to do some research. We've got something to work with now," Cal stated as soon as he appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a bottle of gin out in front of him and two glasses tapping together in his other hand.

Gillian glanced up at him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against a solid cement wall. Her face was slightly pale and discoloured from dried tears and her eyes were characteristically red rimmed, leaving no interpretation as to how she had passed the last hour awaiting Cal's presence. "Little early isn't it?"

Cal raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "It's late afternoon, so that's good enough for me. I'm fairly sure it's gin o'clock somewhere in the world - Australia perhaps."

"Make mine a double, will you."

Cal nodded as he settled in next to her, aware that he had sat himself down so that their legs and arms brushed against each other with the slightest of movement. "You know, there's a perfectly good balcony downstairs and a comfortable office with chairs and the like."

"Thank you," Gillian nodded, taking the glass as it was offered to her. "I was just getting some air, that's all. Just like Alec to make me feel worse when I think I can't feel any worse."

"He was always good like that."

"You couldn't have told me that five years ago?"

Cal shook his head, somewhat in disbelief. "You know he's an incredible liar, not because of how he's lying but because the truth is so lost, you just never get there. Lie after lie, it's like he's in full control of when the truth is released. With maximum impact of course and the drugs don't help. Sometimes I'm not sure he even knows the truth."

"I always thought, hoped I suppose, that it was him rather than me," Gillian murmured, eyes downcast. "Hope dashed, hey?"

Cal let the silence linger in the air, gently brushing her thigh with the back of his fingers. "We've got the name of the woman and a few more details, Reynolds is doing some research."

"Okay," Gillian nodded, lifting her hips off the floor to reach into her pocket and drawer out her phone. "I got a text message again," she explained, tapping the screen a few times before reading. "_You won't find out from him, he knows what the consequences will be. Good try though, I can see what he saw in you._"

"That's it?" She nodded in response. "What do you want to do Gill?"

She sighed and shook her head, turning to meet his eyes. "I have no idea." She was petrified; hurt, scared and completely lost.

"Me neither," he admitted, although in reality his mind was reeling with ideas and options. But he was acutely aware of their earlier conversations and he wanted her to feel validated and respected. He wanted her to know he could and was listening to her every word.

"Sit here and finish this bottle?" she asked hesitantly, wondering briefly if he would chastise her use of alcohol as a coping strategy. That was the kind of thing she would do, but not him.

"Fair plan to me," he answered, refilling their glasses at her prompt. They sat again in silence, sipping at the spirit and quietly thinking. "Gillian?" he asked quietly and she responded by turning to face him and nodding at him to continue. "Sometimes I would like to see you talk more."

She smiled sadly. "I'm not sure many women are told that."

"Most women need to talk less," he responded cheekily, strategically offering her the opportunity to avoid if she was uncomfortable.

Gillian continued to smile, "You make it too easy for me; I don't have to talk."

"You know I can't read you well."

"You can when it counts."

"Which helps me, I'm not so sure about you."

They lapsed into silence again, drinks pursed to their lips. "Cal, can I ask you a question?" He nodded. "How pregnant is she?"

"Too pregnant," Cal answered and a tear slipped slowly from her right eye, falling over the lower lid and catching at her cheekbone. "He's a bastard."

"Yeah," Gillian nodded. "But he's a fertile bastard."

"I'm sorry."

"He's not. He never was sorry. You know he never once apologised, never offered any sign that he regretted how he treated me. I wasn't worth those few words."

Cal nodded his understanding, pulling her into his chest and trailing his fingers over her arm. "You're worth more. He's just a little boy who still thinks he's the centre of the universe. For him to apologise, he'd have to look at himself and he doesn't have the capacity to do that. But don't for a second think you're not worth it."

Cal felt her move slightly in his arms but the feel of her lips on his caught him completely by surprise. He froze and she pulled away, eyes downcast, embarrassed. He was afraid of taking advantage of her; of causing her more anger and pain. He pressed his lips to her forehead and trailed light kisses over her eyelid and to her temple. "There's nothing that I want more than this, than you. But not like this Gill, not while you're like this."

She nodded her agreement, tears again filling her eyes. She felt him brush his lips against hers, stealing her breath for just a second before wrapping his arms tightly around her body and crushing her into his chest. She trembled against him, crying and he held her securely as if letting go meant saying goodbye.

And this was a woman he was never willing to bid goodbye.

**TBC...**


End file.
